


Could've Knocked

by WritingForTheRevolution



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, A cat - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M, accidental breaking and entering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingForTheRevolution/pseuds/WritingForTheRevolution
Summary: Alexander doesn’t mean to break into his neighbor’s apartment the first time; he really doesn't. Or the second time. The third time, well...Or, five times Alex breaks into Thomas's apartment and one time he doesn't have to.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 126





	Could've Knocked

**Author's Note:**

> Starting the year off right with a new work! Going to try to scroll less and create more in 2021.

_One._

Alexander doesn’t mean to break into his neighbor’s apartment the first time; he really doesn’t. But he walks into his kitchen for a glass of water and there’s a cat sitting in his sink.

He doesn’t own a cat.

The animal seems friendly enough, sniffing his hand when he holds it out and stepping onto the counter to follow him when he crosses to the cabinet where he keeps his glasses. Alex reaches his hand out again, and the cat leans its head into his palm, purring.

“Where’d you come from?” Alex murmurs, twisting his hand to scratch the cat’s chin. “Who’s your owner, hm?”

His neighbor has a cat. Alex can hear the guy through the walls, and the one-sided conversations wouldn’t have made any sense if the guy had been talking to anyone other than the cat. But how is the cat in his apartment?

The cat twists dangerously around his ankles as he walks into the living room, and Alex is reminded of why he doesn’t have a cat himself. The window to the fire escape is open, the one he shares with his neighbor, and Alex pokes his head out to see that his neighbor’s window is open as well.

He turns back to the cat. “Okay, it’s time for you to go home,” he says sweetly. “Come on.”

The cat seems indifferent. It sits on his carpet and curls its tail around its front paws, staring at him, and Alex sighs.

“Come on,” he mutters. He wraps his hands around the cat’s belly and lifts, tucking it against his chest as he walks. “You can’t stay in my apartment forever.”

Praying that the cat won’t fall or decide to scratch the living hell out of his arms, he maneuvers through the open window, denting his knees on the wrought iron of the fire escape, and slips through his neighbor’s window. He takes a few strides into the room and glances down at the cat purring in his arms.

“Here you go,” he mutters. “Home sweet home.”

The apartment is nice, he realizes, nicer than what he took in with his cursory once-over. Beautiful posters line the walls, tastefully chosen to complement the paint. A stack of books sits carefully on the desk—one of the spines is gilded and the book looks incredibly old, and Alex wants nothing more than to find out what it says. He turns again to face the doorway, and realizes belatedly that there’s a person staring at him.

“Uh, hi,” Alex mumbles. The cat squirms out of his arms and patters over to the guy. “I swear I’m not trying to break into your apartment. But there was a cat in my sink, and I realized that it belonged to you, but it wouldn’t go out onto the fire escape by itself so I carried it here. I didn’t expect you to be home.”

The cat curls around the guy’s ankles, and he bends down to run his hand along its back. “He’s just a stubborn bastard,” the guy says. “He’ll go out on the fire escape when he wants to, but as soon as you want him there, he’s too good for it. Though I do have to ask—” The cat walks out of sight and the guy straightens. “Why didn’t you just knock on my door?”

Heat creeps up above Alex’s collar and settles in the tips of his ears. “I, uh… didn’t think of that.”

“I can tell.” The guy smirks and flourishes a hand toward the door. “Since I wasn’t able to invite you in, may I at least walk you out?”

“Well, I don’t have my keys, so, uh…” Alex turns and gestures to the window, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste. “I’ll just… go back this way.”

“I’m Thomas,” the guy says, and Alex turns back. “Thomas Jefferson. You already broke into my apartment. The least you can do is tell me your name.”

Alex runs a hand across the back of his neck. “Alexander,” he says. “Alexander Hamilton. But you can call me Alex.”

Thomas’s gaze lingers on him and Alex is used to people staring at him, but not like this. “I’ll see you around, Alexander.”

Alex redoubles his efforts to exit the apartment in an attempt to avoid those piercing eyes. He fails miserably, and he can hear Jefferson’s chuckle when he bangs his head on the window frame.

. . .

_Two._

He doesn’t mean to break in the second time either, and honestly, it isn’t even _technically_ breaking in.

Their U.S. History class had been a partnered debate day. Alex wasn’t sure why his professor had decided that would be a good idea with him and Jefferson in the class, but he wasn’t complaining. The seventy-five minute class had mostly consisted of the professor circling back to Alex and Thomas every five minutes to tell them they were being too loud.

It wasn’t his fault that Jefferson was actually a good debate partner. So good, in fact, that they’d continued their discussion after class. Or, rather, Alex had scrambled to grab his bag and chase Jefferson halfway across campus to continue talking at him.

It helps that they lived in the same building.

Jefferson doesn’t ignore him, per se, but he isn’t exactly paying attention either. He has his phone out and is texting someone—Alex can’t see who, and oh how he had tried—but he’s been chiming in with his two cents every time Alex had paused to take a breath and he’d thrown out his arm to stop Alex from barreling into the crosswalk against the light, which Alex considers a win.

The elevator ride to their floor takes hardly any time at all, and Alex talks all the way up until Jefferson takes out his keys and unlocks his door.

“I’ll see you later,” Jefferson cuts in, and shuts the door.

The wood in Alex’s face doesn’t faze him; it never has. He twists the handle and shoves the door open; brushes past a stunned Thomas, keys in hand; and continues his tirade.

“And anyway, the Bill of Rights—”

“You don’t just follow someone into their apartment, Alexander!”

“Sorry,” Alex mutters. He isn’t. “But as I was saying—”

“Out,” Thomas interjects, placing his hands on Alex’s shoulders and turning him around mid-sentence. “I have things to do.”

“Like what?” Alex digs his heels into the floor and flips back around, pulling Thomas off balance when his hands slip from Alex’s shoulders. “I know you finished that paper for finance because I saw you printing it in the library today, your apartment is so clean that I could probably lick the floor and not get sick, and Locke really doesn’t require that much attention so I can’t—”

“I have a date tonight.”

Whatever thoughts he might have had fly out of his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Thomas rolls his eyes. “Now get out. I have to get ready”

“Let me stay,” Alex counters. “I can give you advice on your outfit.”

“You say that like I’d actually take fashion advice from you,” Thomas scoffs, reaching one hand toward the door. “Did you consciously choose to buy that horrid green jacket you had on the other day, or did the store have a sudden power outage just as you reached for the rack?”

“I like that jacket, thank you very much.” Alex pushes back against Thomas’s other hand, the one that’s pressed against his shoulder in an effort to shove him out the door. “And you’re one to talk. Is your entire wardrobe pink? Or is there some purple thrown in there too?”

“It’s called accent color, dumbass.” Thomas has succeeded in forcing him out of the apartment, and Alex turns back, determined to have the last word.

“I hope she’s pretty,” he throws over his shoulder.

“He is,” Thomas shoots back, twirling his keys around one finger, and shuts the door in Alex’s face.

. . .

_Three._

Midterms roll around and he and Thomas are inevitably partnered together for a project in Finance. He had known it would come to this; they’re the only ones in the class who come anywhere close to challenging each other, but he can’t say he’s mad about their professor’s choice.

What he is mad about, however, is his uncanny ability to forget the one notebook he needs in his apartment when they’ve already sat down and spread all their notes from the past eight weeks across the table in some semblance of order.

“I’ll go get it,” he sighs, shoving himself off Thomas’s stupidly comfortable couch. “Then we can start an outline?”

“Sure,” Thomas replies. “We should probably watch that documentary first though.”

Alex fishes his keys out of his pocket as he walks, tossing them onto his counter before he digs through one of the many uneven stacks of books and loose papers scattered around his apartment in an attempt to find his notebook. He finds it at the bottom of the stack beside his bed; why, he has no idea; and only knocks over three heavy law books when he tries to pull it out without moving anything.

As he walks back past his kitchen, he hesitates for a second before grabbing a packet of microwave popcorn and snatches his keys off the counter. If Thomas is going to let them use his apartment (because Alex’s is ‘too messy to get anything productive done’ apparently), the least he can do is provide the snacks.

He grabs the handle on Thomas’s door and twists, expecting it to turn easily in his hand, but it jerks to a stop halfway, locked.

And normally, he wouldn’t have spared a passing thought to picking the lock, but he’d gone down a YouTube rabbit hole last night and found a video of a guy attempting to pick various locks, one of which had looked suspiciously similar to the ones on the campus apartments.

And who would he be if he didn’t at least try?

It takes him less than five minutes.

“Why’d you lock me out?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he walks back into Thomas’s apartment.

Thomas barely glances up from his notes. “The door locks by itself, dumbass. Why’d you pick the lock?”

“Because I thought you locked me out,” Alex answers easily. “And I kinda wanted to see if I could.”

He can see the beginnings of an exasperated smile on Thomas’s face as he shakes his head and tries to hide it by sifting through papers. “You could have knocked.”

Fuck. “Yeah, and?”

“It seems like it’s becoming a habit,” Thomas mutters. “Now get over here and help me make an outline. This thing is gonna take so fucking long.”

“I brought popcorn,” Alex says. “At least we won’t be hungry while we watch that documentary.”

“Don’t break my microwave,” Thomas says. “I know it was you who set the one in the honors lounge on fire.”

“Fuck you, that was one time!”

“One time too many,” Thomas smirks.

Alex chucks the package of popcorn at him.

. . .

_Four._

When Alex’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he glances at it to find a text from Madison, it’s needless to say he’s confused. They don’t really talk outside of class, and when they do, it’s barely more than a passing greeting.

 **From Madison**  
 **2:17 pm**  
You’re working on a project with Thomas right?

 **To Madison**  
 **2:27 pm**  
Yeah why

 **From Madison**  
 **2:28 pm**  
Can you go check on him when you have time?  
He says he’s sick and that means migraine  
I would go but I have class until four and then work until seven

 **To Madison**  
 **2:29 pm**  
Sure

 **From Madison**  
 **2:29 pm**  
Thanks

Alex pockets his phone and leaves the library.

When he gets back to their building, he tries the handle on Thomas’s door without thinking. It’s unlocked. In hindsight, he should have texted or maybe knocked, but it’s too late for that now.

The room is barely lit when he walks in, the only glow coming from around the edges of the drawn curtains and the screen of a laptop on the coffee table. Thomas’s cat, Locke, comes and brushes up against Alex’s ankles, his eyes flashing green in the strip of light peeking around the door frame.

Thomas looks awful. He’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, the least formal outfit Alex has ever seen him in, and half of his hair is smushed like he’s been lying on it. There’s a stack of books on the table, the titles of which Alex can barely read, and Thomas sets one down as the door clicks shut behind Alex.

“Shit, did we say we were going to meet today?” Thomas scrambles for the papers on the edge of the coffee table. Alex doesn’t miss the way he grits his teeth and shifts his jaw to one side. “I didn’t get as much done as I said I would; I lost track of time, I’m sorry—”

“We’re not meeting today.”

Thomas sets down the slightly crumpled stack of papers. “Then why are you here?”

“Madison texted me,” Alex says. He pulls out his phone to shoot a ‘he’s alive’ text to Madison. “He said that you said you were sick and asked me to check on you.”

Thomas sighs. “How’d you get in?”

“Door was unlocked,” Alex answers. “I didn’t pick the lock this time, I swear.”

“I thought I locked it,” Thomas says, pushing himself off the couch. “Where are my keys?” He takes two steps before he presses his palms to his eyes and winces. “Fuck.”

“Don’t get up,” Alex mutters. “You obviously feel like shit and that makes it worse, apparently.” He glances around the half-lit room. “Did you take anything for this? Ibuprofen or something?”

“Excedrin. Couldn’t find it,” Thoms mumbles, massaging his jaw. “The light hurt my eyes.”

Alex stares at him. “Then why are you on your computer?”

“Have to do the project.”

“No you fucking don’t.”

Thomas glares at him, the effect is ruined by how exhausted his voice sounds when he speaks. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Alexander, this is a partnered project and we are working on it together. I’m not going to make you do all the work.”

“Thomas, I could do the rest of the project myself and you’d still have done over half of it anyway,” Alex says. “You can take a fucking break if you feel like shit, which you clearly do.”

“Stop yelling,” Thomas mumbles. He drops a hand on the lid of his laptop, pushing it shut. “Why’re you always so loud?”

“I’m not,” Alex says, but he makes an effort to lower his voice. “Where do you keep your medicine?”

“Kitchen cabinet,” Thomas says. “The middle one.”

“I’ll find it, you sit,” Alex orders. “And then you’re taking a nap.”

“Fuck you,” Thomas mumbles.

“Sure,” Alex answers easily, already halfway to the kitchen. “If it keeps you from working on the project.”

The last thing Alex hears before he reaches the kitchen is Thomas’s grumbled, “Why do I let you break into my apartment?”

. . .

_Five._

Alex frowns at his text thread with Thomas, scrolling up as if that will refresh the messages and give him a reply that hasn’t been sent.

Thomas hasn’t been answering his messages all day. Alex had texted him about their grade on their midterm project, asked when he could drop off notes from their History and Finance classes, and complained about the lack of a competent debate partner in Thomas’s absence. That last one should definitely have received a response but here he was, two hours later, without a reply.

He’s tempted to text Madison to see if Thomas has texted him today, and he has the man’s contact information pulled up before he realizes that it might not be a good idea. Madison will want to know why Alex is asking, and Alex doesn’t have an answer to that. Besides, it’s not like Thomas hasn’t missed class before.

He’ll just have to pay his neighbor a visit.

Alex carefully sticks the copy of the notes he made for Thomas into his bag and pushes his chair in before he exits the library. Yeah, his hand is cramping from writing them out a second time, but he knows how Thomas gets when he misses class. Alex would rather have notes to give him right off the bat instead of having to deal with a million questions interrupting his explanation.

He knocks first this time; he does. When he doesn’t get an answer, he knocks again.

He should leave it at that, he really should. If Thomas doesn’t want to see him, he doesn’t want to see him. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but he’s worried and he doesn’t know why.

He locks his door and drops his bag on the floor before he opens the window to the fire escape and climbs out. He’ll regret this later, when his apartment is cold and he has to wear a coat inside while the heat kicks in, but that’s a problem for future Alex.

Surprisingly, Thomas’s window is open. Alex had been counting on it being unlocked at the very least so he could try to slide it up from the outside, but open is almost too lucky. He shoves the curtains aside and steps down into the apartment.

Thomas is sitting on the couch, curled under a single blanket. The lamp on the side table is on, illuminating Thomas’s drained face and shaking hands. Locke is curled up beside him, clearly unwilling to explore the fire escape in sub-zero temperatures. Thomas barely glances up when Alex comes through the window.

“Why’s your window open?” Alex asks, lingering by the wall in case Thomas tells him to get out. “It’s freezing outside.”

“The cold helps—” Thomas clears his throat. “It helps me focus. Except it didn’t, but I didn’t want to get up again.”

Alex furrows his eyebrows. “Do you want me to close it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Alex shifts his weight and scuffs his toes against the floor. “Can I sit down?”

Thomas shrugs. It’s not an answer but Alex sits down anyway, perching gingerly on the edge of the couch as he stuffs the hand not holding Thomas’s notes under his thighs.

“You missed class today,” he says slowly. “You barely ever miss class.”

“I know,” Thomas breathes. “I couldn’t… I wouldn’t have been able to focus today. I can’t—” He takes a shuddering breath and waves one hand around in the air. “I can’t breathe right and my heart is too fast and I can barely type, much less write, so going to class would have been a waste.” He twists a silver ring around his finger, the skin red and irritated like he’s been doing it for a while. “I… you should go.”

Alex doesn’t get up. He wants to pull Thomas’s fingers away from the ring, but he’s not sure if physical touch would be appreciated at the moment. “Thomas, I… is this an anxiety thing?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I kind of do.”

Thomas glances up for the first time since Alex stepped through the window. “Why?”

Alex stares into Thomas’s eyes, hope glimmering somewhere behind the exhaustion. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Something in those eyes collapses as Thomas looks away. Alex isn’t sure what. “Yeah.”

“So what is it?” Alex asks cautiously. “Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s about you,” Thomas whispers. He freezes for a half-second, just short enough that Alex almost doesn’t notice, and shakes his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

For once, Alex doesn’t push for an explanation. “Okay.” He sets the notes on the table and stands up again. “I’m going to close the window. If it didn’t help, you don’t deserve to freeze if you already feel like shit.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m going to make tea,” Alex decides, brushing past Thomas’s knees on his way to the kitchen. “You can read through the Finance notes if you want, but my handwriting is kind of shit.”

Ten minutes later, he walks back into the living room with two mugs half an inch from overflowing. Thomas’s face has regained some warmth and his hands have stopped shaking, and he’s running a palm over Locke’s head when Alex sets the mugs down on the coffee table.

“Thanks for staying,” Thomas murmurs, picking up the mug. “It means a lot.”

“Of course.”

. . .

_Plus one._

The sixth time, Alex doesn’t even have to break in.

Thomas has been acting weird all day. Alex has to elbow him at least four times when he zones out during class, and Thomas barely looks at him even when Alex speaks directly to him. As they walk back to their building like they do every Friday, he keeps fidgeting with his phone and the strap of his bag, and opens his mouth like he’s going to interrupt Alex’s running commentary before he closes it again without a word.

“See you later, I guess,” Alex mumbles when they reach their floor, turning to his apartment and leaving Thomas to his weird mood.

“Can I make you dinner?” Thomas blurts.

Alex pauses, one hand on his door handle and the other holding his keys. “What, right now?”

“No. Yes.” Thomas runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip. “Give me thirty minutes?”

“Are the thirty minutes so you can figure out how to poison me?” Alex grins. “You’ve been acting weird all day, and that seems like the only reasonable explanation.”

“They’re for me to freak out and then figure out what the hell I’m doing because I didn’t actually plan on asking you out this way.”

Alex’s keys fall from his fingers. “Oh.”

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” Thomas says quickly, looking anywhere but at Alex. “I thought that you might… that maybe you’d want to? Or we can do something else. It doesn’t have to be dinner, I just thought—”

“Thomas, it’s fine.” Alex bends down to pick up his keys. “I’d love for you to make me dinner.”

“Okay,” Thomas inhales. “Okay. See you in thirty?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “Thirty.”

Thirty minutes is almost too long. Alex throws almost every shirt he has out of his closet in an attempt to find something that’s mildly formal but not too much. What is he even supposed to wear? If Thomas had invited him to an upscale restaurant, choosing an outfit would be a cinch. But Thomas’s apartment? Even his most formal suit feels inadequate.

He digs through the back of three cabinets before he finds the bottle of wine Angelica had gifted him for Christmas a couple years back and then forces himself to sit on the couch until thirty minutes have passed. He can hear Thomas talking to Locke through the wall, the majority of the one-sided conversation consisting of Thomas asking the cat for advice on his outfit and repeating ‘he said yes’ in varying tones of voice.

It’s cute.

By the time he knocks on Thomas’s door, Alex is practically vibrating. He clenches his fingers around the wine bottle and almost drops it when Thomas opens the door. Alex can see flickering candles on the table before he focuses on the man in front of him.

“Hi,” Thomas breathes. “You look great.”

Alex nods, his tongue frozen. When he remembers how to talk, the first thing out of his mouth is a joke because he can’t act fucking normal around Thomas, apparently.

“You better not have made macaroni and cheese, Thomas, because that’s what you fucking have every ti—”

“It’s not mac and cheese,” Thomas mumbles. “It’s Italian. I wanted to impress you.”

Alex melts. “You’ve already impressed me.”

“Good.” Thomas steps to the side. “Come in?” he says, and Alex grins. “What?”

“Nothing. I just think it’s funny that you’re actually inviting me into your apartment for once.” Alex holds out the bottle of wine. “Courtesy of Angelica.”

“She’d be laughing her ass off if she were here right now,” Thomas says.

“Why? Because you made me dinner, or because this is the first time I’ve been to your apartment without breaking in?”

“Both,” Thomas smirks, and shuts the door.


End file.
